14

“I’m”—she pulled in air—“soaking.”

I wanted to see that again.

I wanted to taste it.

I wanted to swallow it down my throat.

“How easy would it be for you to slip in a finger?”

“I wouldn’t even have to try. It would go right in.”

“Goddamn it.” I was stroking harder, faster. “I want you circling, staying on the outside. Go all around, spreading your wetness. And while you’re doing that, add more pressure to your clit.”

“Ah!”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“I . . . want it.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“My finger. I need it.”

“Because you want to come?”

She moaned, “Yes.”

The image of her legs open and wide, her hand between them, her finger on the verge of entering—there was nothing hotter.

“Do it,” I ordered. “But just one, not two.”

“Ahhh.”

“Is it all the way in?”

“Yesss.”

“Are you dipping it in and out?”

Her breath came out labored when she said, “I’m moving quickly. I can’t stop. It feels too good.”

So was I.

My balls were already tightening as I fisted my dick. I normally used lube, lotion